Bonfire
by Leviathian
Summary: Thatch just wants Marco to take some time for himself, however small, or perceivably stupid. (Written for Marco's birthday!)


Sometimes, Thatch wished Marco wasn't the first division commander.

Only sometimes, of course. Without Marco, they'd be in shambles in more ways than one– the bird kept a tight grip where it was needed. There were rarely misunderstandings with chores, or stock, or crewmates; everything worked undoubtedly smoother under the man's attentive eye.

But, he considered again, watching for the fourth time as Marco passed by the massive bonfire they had built on the shoreline with another drunken sibling slumped on him, It still means he never does even small things for himself, the idiot. It was no secret that Marco had an affinity to fire. For as long as Thatch could remember, Marco had always had his fruit– he was pretty sure he had joined Pops with it already in his system– and for just as long, his eldest brother was pulled towards fire in ways he could barely comprehend, sometimes.

The first time he had caught the other basking in one of their fire pits, long after everyone else had dropped dead-asleep or dead-drunk to the sand, he had thought Marco was killing himself. (Turns out, he was just dancing– but you didn't hear it from him. Too much was personally at stake to break that oath of secrecy. Like his hair. Or his dignity, or privileges, but mostly his hair. Marco's talons were sharp, okay?) One moment, he had been trying to stumble his way to an open patch of sand to pass out, and the next time he looked Marco was just... in the bonfire. If the flames hadn't turned purple on contact he wouldn't have even noticed— hell, if it weren't for Marco's fixation on fire, he would have brushed it off as a drunken daydream.

Thatch blinked. Looked down at the drink still in his hand. Looked back up. _What was I thinking about again?_

"Th-Thatch!" The chef turned just in time to... sort of catch Ace. His younger brother looked more than a little worse for wear, stumbling over his own boots. There was sand all over his face like a new skin. Every time he moved what felt like a second beach showered out of his hair alone. "What'cha doin' all 'lone?" He moaned mournfully, draping himself over Thatch. "Gotta... gotta p'rty."

Ace looked ready to do exactly the opposite of "party". Ace looked ready to begin a year long coma.

An idea sparked in Thatch's brain.

"Hey Ace," he whispered, and shook the others shoulder gently. It still made Ace rock on his feet unsteadily. Carefully maneuvering him, Thatch pointed towards where Marco was still strutting by the fire, ever closer with every pass until the siblings he was carrying were complaining from the heat. "Why don't you go party in the bonfire? That'd be _wild,_ wouldn't it?" _Marco has a soft spot for the kid— maybe when he gets to him he'll just stay in there for once instead of waiting to help these idiots—_ Hopefully the fire would help burn some of the alcohol out of Ace too. their youngest _really_ wasn't supposed to be drinking with his narcolepsy. Izo was going to strangle whoever gave any to him when he found out.

Said youngest was blinking blearily. "Yeah?" He mumbled. Thatch let Ace slip off of him, determinedly stumbling towards the still raging bonfire. Pretty much only Marco was truthfully attending it at that point— every so often kicking a log or two into the flames with a careful look to make sure no one was watching. _Like building a nest_, Thatch considered, snickering. _A big ol' Phoenix nest. On fire._ He couldn't really tell from that far, but he wouldn't be surprised if Marco was secretly putting those extra logs down in a nest-like formation. (It wouldn't be the first time— but again, you wouldn't hear that from him.)

Ace barely made it to the bonfire. He fell asleep face first in it. Thatch almost threw up trying not to laugh, watching his younger brothers head vanish in a _fwoomf_ of fire up to his collar bone. If he really listened, he swore he could hear snoring in between the flames crackling. He considered helping but... Ace was fine, and still almost made it! That had to count for something.

In the corner of his eye, Marco froze.

Thatch ducked his head down, quickly pretending he wasn't watching as the first commander put Curiel back down into the sand (not even a twitch, the man still snoring as if sleeping on the worlds comfiest bed and not the shore) and quickly trot over to Ace.

Ace didn't stir from being tugged out of the fire. Face still reforming, he blindly reached for Marco's hand, the other still groping for the heat of the bonfire, and mumbled what was likely an incoherent string of words about partying and fire. Whatever Marco said back wasn't audible to Thatch— but it didn't truthfully matter. The Phoenix obligingly stepped over Ace, a clawed foot having transformed seemingly unconsciously to perch on the charred logs, and dragged the younger in. He only hesitated a moment, basking in the flames, before turning to step back out.

He didn't make it.

Even from some odd thirty feet away, he could hear Marco's squawk clear as day when Ace immediately latched onto the bird's legs. The bonfire exploded with purple flickers as the phoenix's wings burst out, flapping instinctually in a frantic attempt not to trip over and gore Ace accidentally. Ace was none the wiser— just tugged him down with a grip of steel.

Marco accepted his fate with startling integrity, considering he was being used like a stuffed animal in the middle of a bonfire.

_wow, okay, I'm going to be making all of Ace's favorites tomorrow,_ Thatch decided immediately. His oldest and youngest brother both had settled down remarkably fast, in the pit of the fire. The longer they stayed the more purple overtook the red as Marco gave in to his zoan instincts, turning to preen the flames into his feathers while Ace snored against his side.

They looked... content.

_I think I'll leave them alone,_ Thatch thought. He didn't want to risk upsetting the current calm and sending them both into a frenzy of whatever sort.

Besides, all of their camera den-dens were on board.

* * *

Happy birthday, Marco.


End file.
